


Luck of the Draw

by StarryDreamer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7839346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryDreamer/pseuds/StarryDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luck is when skill and opportunity come together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck of the Draw

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted at FFN. I'm trying to see what it's like posting here before I bring the rest of my collection over. But if you like what you've read and are hungry for more [go here.](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2193369/StarryDreamer01)

Fitz’s gaze flitted upward as he took in the historic vaulted ceiling. The evening’s fading light filtered through the oversized stained glass windows which featured what he assumed was the life of St. George. His favourite of the bunch, located at the center of the farthest wall, featured a man atop a rearing horse, his sword aimed at some unseen foe. 

“It’s quite remarkable, isn’t it?” a familiar voice noted behind him, startling him to the core. His eyes widened with panic as he registered who the voice belonged to. “The dragon portion used to be right there,” she pointed toward the window’s left side, “but it was removed for cleaning and then mysteriously disappeared.” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “Legend says that it was stolen by a bitter caretaker who’d quit shortly after it was reported lost.” He shifted slightly to look at her and her eyes seemed to dance mischievously at the thought. She smiled genially at him and awaited his reply. He opened his mouth intent on saying something witty, but the words failed him. 

Her smile briefly fell; surely she must find him to be a completely inarticulate dolt. But he couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say in response. Dr. Jemma Simmons had the uncanny ability to startle him into silence. 

She began to move past him, the tips of her fingers briefly making contact with the skin at his wrist causing a shiver to course the length of his spine. At the last second, she turned, her face aglow again. “Don’t forget to buy your tickets for the raffle,” she reminded him brightly. “Five for a quid!” 

All he could muster was a blank stare and a curt nod before she tugged at the lapels of her posh, crested blazer and stepped into the crowd of other convention revellers and disappeared from his sight. He exhaled deeply, releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in and massaged his hands anxiously. 

Earlier in the day, he’d made the fateful decision to skip the keynote address in favour of seeking out a scientist that he’d heard had managed to create a non-lethal presynaptic neurotoxin. While he didn’t like to partner on his academic pursuits, he was certain that his railgun would be the perfect delivery mechanism for the neurotoxin. He was hopeful that the mysteriously elusive and reputedly busy Dr. Simmons would allow him half a minute to pitch his conceptual designs. He was even certain that their respective efforts would catch the eye of the R&D department at S.H.I.E.L.D which had been rumoured to be recruiting at the convention. It’s what led him to wander the hallways of Oxford University, his tablet in hand, as he asked complete strangers if they knew where the presenters’ lounge was. 

Somewhere near the main entryway, a woman his age stepped forward and offered to show him the way. He was grateful for her help, but was also admittedly very focused on mentally running through the specs of his railgun. He hadn’t heard half of what she’d been saying as they walked and it wasn’t until her elbow accidentally knocked into his own that he’d realized she even been talking. 

“There’s someone I’m particularly keen on meeting,” she continued with a shy smile. “Though I think he’s just an attendee. They’ve told me he doesn’t quite like presenting. Shy, I presume. Though his academic research is quite fascinating. It’s such a shame, really...” She tucked a strand of her chestnut-coloured hair behind her ear and shrugged. 

Fitz nodded, hoping that it was enough to convince her that he’d been paying attention. 

“It’s just at the end of this hallway,” she noted, pointing. 

As he grew closer to the presenter’s lounge, his heart raced with anticipation and he focused his resolve. He was determined that he would somehow convince Dr. Simmons his railgun was worth the investment.

“Here it is,” she said jovially, motioning toward a door that had a hand printed sign stuck to it with clear tape. 

He bobbed in spot, biting at the corner of his bottom lip, suddenly nervous and uncertain if he’d even be allowed into the presenters’ lounge. Did they check credentials? Would they ban him from the Conference? What if Dr. Simmons herself gave him the toss? He’d never get a chance to explain how it’d enhance the release of --

“What are you waiting for?” the woman asked, an eyebrow raising curiously. She leaned forward. “They don’t check credentials if you’re looking to pinch some snacks,” she advised, teasingly. “The scones are particularly delightful,” she added with a wink. 

Fitz burst out laughing, his nerves momentarily abated. He shook his head and glanced down at the tablet he held in his hand and wondered if it’d be worth hearing what this stranger thought of his proposal. “I’m actually looking for someone in particular.” He turned the tablet to face her and swiped to reveal his plans. “I intend to convince her to let me help improve her neurotoxin.”

She tilted her head sharply, narrowed her eyes and abruptly crossed her arms at her chest. “Oh?” 

He chose to ignore her apparent uncertainty. “It’s Dr. Simmons I was looking for. You’ve might’ve heard of her. She’s practically rewritten the investigation into the human protein structure. She--”

“-- created a modified recipe for dendrotoxin.” 

Fitz’s eyes widened with surprise. “You know of her?”

She lowered her eyes and looked down at some unseen spot on the floor. “Something like that,” she muttered. After a brief moment, she looked up and her gaze met his. She held it, seemingly with purpose, and Fitz wondered if there was something more that she’d wanted to say. Perhaps she had met Dr. Simmons or had even worked with her… 

“Tell me more. About all this,” she said quickly, motioning for him to follow her to a nearby bench. Without a second thought, he did as she’d requested and sat next to her. When she inched closer toward him, he finally took full notice of her. She was stunningly gorgeous, and certainly not the type of woman he’d ever normally have courage to approach. His heart hitched a bit in his chest and he felt his face betrayingly redden. He focused on his tablet in an effort to abate the sudden flush of emotion. 

“What will you say?” she asked, breaking the silence that Fitz had inadvertently caused. 

He swallowed thickly and slowly began to explain his motivations. Admittedly, he probably did so in more detail than was absolutely necessary, but the woman listened, seemingly enthralled with the specs and design of his railgun and how he was certain it would work with the dendrotoxin compound. 

“You’re certain the bullets will break up under the subcutaneous tissue?”

“Fairly,” he said with a hesitant shrug of his shoulders. “That’s why I’m looking for Dr. Simmons. I’m certain she’d be interested in this tech--”

“Oh, she is!” the woman noted brightly as she reached for his arm and squeezed it. A look of sudden recognition crossed her face. 

Fitz shook his head, confused. “Sorry?”

“You’re Dr. Leo Fitz, aren’t you?

He frowned. “Yes, but…” He shook his head. “I don’t understand…”

The woman clapped her hands with palatable excitement. “I knew it had to be you! This spec is infinitely far superior to anything I’ve ever seen before,” she said pointing toward his tablet. “There’d been rumblings about it, which is why I’d hoped to meet you. I’d heard you were a genius; I just hadn’t realized that--” 

“Dr. Simmons?” A first year clutching a clipboard to his chest approached from behind the woman. She turned abruptly in her seat. 

“Yes?” Her voice held a twinge of annoyance at the interruption as Fitz’s eyes widened with shock.

“Your session’s about to start. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

She turned back toward Fitz and offered him an apologetic look. “Right. Well then,” she said, unfazed as she thrust out her hand. “You’re going to be at the charity fundraiser later on, right?”

Stunned and still thoroughly bewildered, it was all Fitz could do to allow himself to shake her hand in return and nod in the affirmative. 

“Brilliant. I want to talk more about this. May I call you Leo?”

She held firmly on to his hand and he felt embarrassed right to his very core. She must think him ridiculous for not recognizing her sooner. He shook his head. “Fitz... Rather, just Fitz is fine.” 

She grinned wider. “Call me Jemma, then. We’ll talk later, okay?” 

At long last she dropped his hand and before he could utter a single, coherent word in reply, she was ushered down the hall and into one of the lecture rooms. 

Hours had since passed, and Fitz still wasn’t certain he was over the shock of how he’d managed to meet Dr. Simmons. With his back pressed against an ornately gilded wall, he watched as Danvers Milton laughed at something Dr. Simmons had said. The water bottle Fitz clutched in his hand cracked as he tightened his grip in frustration. 

Why hadn’t he bothered to google Dr. Simmons-- rather, Jemma and see what she’d looked like? Stupidly, he’d pictured a matronly academic, easily twenty years older than him. He certainly hadn’t imagined that someone so accomplished could also be his contemporary. 

And he definitely hadn’t expected her. 

“Five tickets for a quid.” 

A finger prodded at his shoulder, calling his attention. He turned his gaze to find Sally Webber waving a pad of tickets in his face.

‘What do you want?” He groused. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Milton wrap his beanstalk arm over Jemma’s shoulders. How that cabbage-headed imbecile managed to get women interested in him, was beyond his comprehension. 

“Five tickets for a quid,” she repeated dryly.

“For?”

“You could win a date with one of the visiting presenters from Cambridge and help fund the new medical wing. There’s loads to bet on,” she added brightly. “This year we got a record number of a girls volunteering to take lads out on dates. You might get lucky!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He folded his arms against his chest. Sally was always on his case, nattering incessantly about how he spent too much time in the engineering labs and not enough time socializing with the rest of the department. As if he got to where he was by going on pub crawls! 

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing. What’s gotten into you?” 

He shook his head, unfolded his arms and reached into his pocket. He pulled out two coins. “Here. Two quid. It’s all I got.” 

With an aggravated huff, Sally ripped a stack of tickets and quickly jotted his name onto each. “Ten tickets, then,” she said, matching his tone. “The lottery tins are over there. Just put your tickets into whichever one you prefer.”

He stared at the tickets in his hands. 

“For the record,” Sally continued with derision. “I hope she takes you to a hot dog cart.”

With a sharp turn on her heels, she moved on to her next would-be victim just as Fitz balled the papers in his fist and glanced around for a rubbish bin. 

“You’re going to use your tickets, right?”

His heart leapt into his throat. For, what felt like the thousandth time that day, he’d been caught unawares. He needed to start taking better stock of his surroundings if he planned on applying to S.H.I.E.L.D in the near future. 

Jemma smiled and pointed to the tickets he’d crumpled in his hand. “You’re going to at least try and win?”

Fitz shrugged, his face flushed. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he mumbled.

She frowned. “Go on! You have to. You paid for them after all.”

He was about to make the argument that it was only two quid, hardly bank breaking, but she’d snatched one of the tickets from his hand, uncrumpled it, then neatly folded it in half and marched herself across the room to the contest tins. 

He bolted after her, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry.

“Seriously!” he cried out once he’d caught up to her. “It’s fine. Really!” He hated that he sounded so desperate, but he really couldn’t even fathom a date with someone he’d never met. The entire concept was preposterous to him. And horrifying. 

Jemma plucked a tin from the table and tucked his ticket into it. “There! That wasn’t so hard now was it?” Her eyebrows flashed as she replaced the tin. She patted his shoulder before turning to walk away in the opposite direction.  
He exhaled a shaky breath and approached the table, intent on removing his name. 

“Once they’re in, they’re in,” Sally tsked, hovering her hand over the lip of the cannister in order to block him. 

“But…”

She shook her head. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? You put tickets in Fitz, you don’t take them out. That’s not how lotteries work you know.”

“But…” He floundered for an excuse. Sally’s eyebrow cocked impatiently, her expression one of irritation. 

“Hey Sal!” Milton called out. Fitz gritted his teeth at the sound of Milton’s awful, nasally voice and narrowed his eyes. As his nemesis approached, he slapped Fitz on the back so hard that it caused him to jerk forward. “Which of these belongs to Jemma Simmons?” 

Sally removed her hand from the tin she’d been covering. “It’s this one. Have at it.” 

Milton shot Fitz a wide, toothy grin before dumping about five quid’s worth of tickets into, what Fitz was beginning to realize, was Jemma’s tin. She had tossed the ticket she’d taken from Fitz into her own! But, why? 

His mouth dropped open with shock and Milton chuckled at the sight of him. “Totally worth it,” he said cheekily before slapping Fitz once more and making his way toward the bar. 

Fitz stared at Jemma’s tin, now half full with Milton’s tickets. His gazed flitted toward Jemma who was being shuffled, along with several other women, up the stairs of the main stage by one of the event coordinators. There was a brief moment he was certain they’d shared when she caught his glance. But a quick nod, as though she was responding to someone else, suggested otherwise. 

“You have five seconds Fitz,” Sally noted pointedly, her hand firmly at her hip. “The lottery’s about to start.” 

Fitz bobbed hesitantly from one foot to the other. He still had nine (very crumpled) tickets remaining; he could easily offset some of Milton’s ballots. Heck, he might even win.

He chuckled almost inaudibly to himself. A date with Jemma Simmons! The very thought seemed impossibly out of reach. 

“Fitz?” He could almost hear the tapping of Sally’s foot against the floor. 

“Fine! Fine.” He quickly tossed seven of the papers into Jemma’s tin and stuffed the remaining two into his pocket. A full ten would’ve seemed a bit stalkery; a little too much like Milton.

Time seemed to pass at a snail’s pace as the lottery results were revealed for each of the women on stage. As it came closer to Jemma’s turn, Fitz increasingly felt as if he’d made a grave mistake. What if he did win? He hated the very thought of her being forced to take him on a date. She was so out of his league, she’d probably be horrified to have to entertain him; even if it was for charity. Really, he reasoned in an attempt to calm his nerves, he’d just tossed his name into her tin to save her from the horrors of that cabbage head Milton. 

“This is very exciting,” Jemma’s voice echoed through the room as she spoke into a microphone held by Sally. She shook her lottery tin in between her hands.

“I’m sure a number of lads would love a date with the estimable Dr. Simmons,” Sally noted, winking with exaggeration toward the audience. A few chuckled in response as Jemma reached into the cannister. 

“So?” Sally prompted, grinning. Jemma’s cheeks flushed as she looked down and away from Sally, the paper clutched against her chest. “Who’s the lucky fellow?”

Jemma’s next words came so quickly that Fitz was almost certain he’d misheard. “Doctor Leopold Fitz.” 

…

Jemma Simmons liked him. 

Sally Webber had been wrong. She’d been very, very wrong. Jemma didn’t take Fitz to a hot dog cart, she instead took him to his favourite fish and chips shop. He initially dismissed it as a lucky guess until she’d accidentally let it slip that she’d asked around about him. She, she’d admitted, excelled at preparation and she wanted to make sure she got everything perfect.

“Why?” He’d asked, genuinely curious. 

“Because,” she replied. A shy, crooked smile crept upon her pursed lips. “I think I rather like you.” 

He didn’t know what to say in return. And as it turned out, he didn’t need to. 

“It’s not too forward is it?” She asked, biting at the corner of her lip. “It’s just I’ve been following your work and then to have met you…Well, I wanted to see if my instincts were right. Quite frankly, it all took me a bit by surprise.” 

He nodded. Everything lately had seemed to take Fitz by surprise as well. When he’d initially tried to find Dr. Simmons, he certainly hadn’t expected to find her. And it was through their date that he was beginning to discover how much they really had in common. No subject seemed off limits. She was everything and more than he could’ve ever hoped for. They’d talked about absolutely everything: Sheffield, Glasgow, their respective degrees, being the youngest in their fields, teaching classes at uni… He hadn’t wanted the night to end. 

His cheeks hurt, he’d been smiling so much and as most people he knew could attest: he hardly ever smiled. Never properly and certainly not genuinely. But Jemma Simmons could do the unthinkable; she easily and without effort brought a smile to his face. 

Only once in the night did his smile falter. 

“How do you know Milton Danvers?” she asked, taking a sip from her bottle of Bendeery. “Are you good friends?”

He swallowed thickly, unsure of how to answer. “I wouldn’t say that we’re friends…” he replied hesitantly, his reaction surely betraying his true sentiments. 

Jemma smiled. “Good!” she said with relief. “He’s so annoying. Almost as bad as Sally.” She rolled her eyes for added emphasis. “Always agreeing with everything I say. Who could stand to be around someone like that?”

Fitz laughed. “Not me, that’s for certain.” 

Jemma leaned forward. “Don’t you think he looks a bit like a brussel sprout?”

He grinned. She truly was unbelieveable. 

After dinner, when she’d suggested they stroll along the Isis, he hadn’t minded in the least when she’d taken hold of his hand. It felt comfortable and right. 

He’d thought he’d be a nervous wreck, unable to talk to her and ruin the date entirely. But Jemma had done the unimaginable: she put him at ease. She laughed at his jokes, asked after his projects, marvelled at his successes and encouraged him to apply to S.H.I.E.L.D. In return, he was just as equally enraptured by her. 

But in the back of his mind, there was still a touch of doubt. He knew that ultimately, she wasn’t obligated to take part in a second date.

“I should probably head in,” Jemma said solemnly, jerking her thumb over her shoulder once they’d returned to the residence halls well past midnight. 

“Tonight was really great. A lot of fun.” Fitz dug his toe nervously against the wood floors, not quite sure how to say goodbye and not quite wanting to either. “I’m glad it was my name you drew.”

There was a flash of something indefinable in Jemma’s eyes.

“Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

Before he could really process what was happening, she’d stepped toward him, pressed up on the balls of her feet and met his lips with her own. She was eager and wanting and it had taken him by surprise. He wasn’t used to someone being so forthright and frankly, interested. Thankfully, he’d managed to recover quickly, and allowed his hands to press at the small of her back, bringing her closer as he dared to deepen their kiss. 

“Now I’m really glad it was my name that you drew,” he murmured with a throaty chuckle when they drew apart moments later.

Jemma tilted her head and met his gaze, her grin blooming wide and knowing. “I called out your name,” she said, laughter tingeing her words. “But I never said that it was your name that I drew...”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
